


Demon of Sidereal

by bela013



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, warning doesn't have this specific option sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22189288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bela013/pseuds/bela013
Summary: Demons are ment to tempt. And what bigger temptation to a Circle Mage, than to be forced to dream of a happy life as a free mage. A life they know will never be theirs.
Relationships: Corypheus/Inquisitor (Dragon Age)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

Evelyn believed when the older mages told her about the length a demon would go to temp a mage. How could she not, when every night she was plagued with dreams of a life that was denied to her. She was the first born. She was the heir. She was the strongest. And she was a mage. So she is locked in a tower while her brothers enjoy her birthright. And the dreams, the damned dreams, showed her the life she could've had if she had still been allowed to inherit.

When she was young, the dreams of being the prized daughter of a mages family filled her with rage. A loving husband, also a mage. He would kiss her brow and compliment her on her technique. The same technique she would employ during the day and get punished for it. For no mage in that tower has taught her that, so a demon must have done it. Her left wrist was never the same after that. Her dreams were never the same.

She was near forty. Her birth allowed her only the privilege of rising in rank. But not much. Her students looked at her for comfort and knowledge. At night, she would see him, his face, clear as water. The demon in her dreams wasn't handsome. But he was caring. He was  _ hers _ . As she hated him when she was younger, she grew to love him. Even if he was all but a demon, binding his time to destroy her. He loved her. The dream version of her. The free mage. And she loved him. Truly pathetic. But it was all she had.

The Circle falls and things change. Not for good. Never for good. The chaos of going to the conclave with both the young students and the too old to live the apostate life is nothing compared to the horror that's losing everything when the temple blows up. The mark on her hand is just a tiny speck of dust on the literal ashes of the temple. When she closes the breach, she passes out. And she dreams of him again. A dream so real. It was her, finally her, in front of him. His face was a ruin. Her heart burned with relief. If that was when the demon would come collect her life and render her asunder, she would welcome him with open arms. She takes a step forward, and his face twists in confusion when he sees her. It was finally happening. He shouts a name,  _ not hers _ , and everything is drown in a green light.

She wakes up in Haven after that, alone. Truly alone. The mark on her hand. Her title as Inquisitor. Her freedom. None of it could measure up to the fact that he disappeared from her dreams. She finally had everything that she ever craved. And no one to share it with. Not her demon. Not her students. Not even her old teachers. She is a puppet. A figure head for a cause she rather see burned to the ground. They insult her by forcing her to follow the council of a templar. A chantry sister has someone shadowing her every move. A young slip of a girl wants to talk about the Trevelyan parties. She thinks she rather have died in her dreams. The Ostwick circle is no more. It died in that burnt down tower, and all she did was drag its carcass across Thedas. Only to watch it burn in the Conclave. Chains bind her to the position of Inquisitor, and she doesn't have the energy to fight them.

The attack on Haven is an overkill. The merry band of fools that joined that cause would have killed each other in the following days anyway. By helping the mages, she got no sympathy from the common folk around. She could practically see them burning the very children she saved in the coming days. All she did was watch as the hatred festered in their eyes. The red templars on their doors were just carrion flies over corpses. But like a good puppet, she fights for their lives. Up until the point where someone must sacrifice themselves. The trebuchet needs to be manned by someone. And as a mage, she was sure that she could level the whole place with her magic. Damned be the consequences. Or her life.

Rocks wouldn't save them. The dragon in the skies said so. So she is finally ready to let go of her control and allow her magic to consume her. And yet it doesn't. A sharp stab of pain on her side makes her, no, forces her to turn.

"Amitta!" that terrible voice. His voice. Finally in the flesh. But calling that damned name. Not hers. Never hers.

Her magic returns ten folds. Possibly in anger. Her unending anger of youth. Anger at the demon who didn't even bother to call her by name. She screams a horrible scream. And feels the magic in her begin to burn her insides. A clawed hand, much too big to be human wraps itself around her neck. It dampens her magic again. It's him. It's always him.

"Stop this at once, impostor!" he squeezes at her throat, her screams all but a pitiful wheeze. The world spins around her as she manages to kick the conveniently close lever of the trebuchet. She blacks out to the frantic screams of her demon.


	2. Chapter 2

She wakes up in the same rude manner that she did in Haven that very first day. It almost makes her think everything was a dream. But with the chain biting at her ankle, she is made aware of her surroundings. The great chamber she's locked into is empty, save for the roll she had been carefully is laid onto, and the great chair by the door. She tastes blood on her mouth. She is thirsty. Terribly so. With great effort, she makes her body sit up. Her armored robes are ruined. Blood stained the Inquisition banner on her chest. Hers and the templar's she slaughtered. Small freckles of red lyrium coat her armor, like ground rocks. Probably the only thing feeds her magic and keeping her from passing out.

The door opens and she doesn't bother looking up. Too tired. She knows that if she were to try moving her neck, she would just fall back onto the roll on the floor. So she waits.

"Amitta?" again with that name. Why is it always that name?

"She's dead" her voice is all but a rasp, but he hears. The sharp intake of breath and the approaching footsteps tell her so. "I killed her years ago.", she truly did. She dreamt of her, alone in her great house, crying for a husband that would never come back. She died alone. Just as she was set to die in the Ostwick Circle.

The clawed hand reaches for her neck once more, hoisting her to her shaky feet and then up in the air. Her legs are dangling and she fights back the urge to laugh at the absurd of it all.

"Don't mock me, impostor. You might wear her face, but that won't stop me from killing you" an empty threat. She sees it in his eyes. His horrible eyes in his monstrous face. She wanted to kiss his brow, that frowned in confusion at her mere existence. He relents his hold, and her feet are back on the ground. Her hands find their way to his robes, her fingers catching onto the red lyrium that protruded from his body, and use it as leverage for her now frail body. He paid no mind to it. "Is this a mockery from the non existing gods? To crown a herald wearing this face of all faces?" she swayed in place as he spoke with fervor. In her dreams, he would always go into long tangents about the things that offended him.

"Demon, I wear no face but my own" his eyes turn down to her, watching, searching a lie. "This is my face. Mine." Long fingers paw at her chin, angling her head upwards, as if she would have taken her eyes off him otherwise. "Did you dream of me, demon? Did you sleep in the fade and dream of me? Did you ever learn my name?"

She collapses onto him. Her body wasn't what it once was. The magic she tried to put into place in Haven almost took all of her. As she falls, her fingers curl around a longer piece of lyrium at his hip. It breaks as she tries to use it to keep herself upright. He hardly feels it, as she falls a bit off her roll and onto the cold floor. The lyrium cradled into her hands, pressed to her chest.

"My name is Evelyn, demon" her mouth still had the energy her body lacked. She tried smiling up at him. All she can see is the sharp angles on the lyrium and the faint red glow they cast.

It's a pleasant surprise when they reach down for her, kneeling at her side. Nails grazing her chin and brushing the hair of her face. She smiles at him once more. Maybe this was all but the hallucination of a dying woman.

"Mine is Corypheus"

Maybe this truly wasn't her demon. For his name has always been Sethius.


	3. Chapter 3

She struggles to understand he isn't a demon. That he is all but a man. A man twisted by magic beyond her, and his, comprehension. She fights the knowledge that he isn't hers to claim. Never was. Somehow, she is a copy of his long lost wife. She hates it. And cries as he says so to her, his voice going from angry accusations to pitiful inquiries of how was it possible.

She touches his ruined face as he goes mournful for the dead woman she now hates. He was supposed to be hers. Her demon. Her temptation. The only good thing in her miserable life. Her blunt nails would scrape over his skin, plucking the smaller lyrium shards that encrusted his cheek. He wouldn't even react, not even as she drew blood, he would only call her by the other name.

Beyond the tall window of her chamber, she sees the world as she once saw in the future that the magister had conjured up. Green skies. The fade and this world, practically once. Had she known it was him all along, she would have helped the Magister. Allowed him to cradle the dead body of his son, as she held onto her demon.

No. He wasn't hers anymore. Nor was he a demon. When he wasn't mourning for his dead wife, he was harnessing her magic to split the world asunder. He had many plans. But she didn't particularly care about them. He would guide her out of her chambers them. Her robes replaced by Tervinter ones, of a dark red material. Somehow, the red lyrium was yet to spread to her, possibly due to the mark on her hand. Either way, the robes would shimmer the same way the red lyrium would under the green light from the skies. The look of horror in the few survivors from Haven, as she approached at his side, makes her think that everything was intentional of him. She walked by his side, she wasn't collared, she wasn't being forced, in those moments, he wouldn't even offer her his hand to hold. She looked truly corrupted by him.

She watches his as he graciously offers shelter to the remaining mages. There are so little of them. Their numbers weren't even half of the numbers when they left Haven. She feels guilty for the first time. She should have protected them. Evelyn reaches for his hand then, his eyes immediately fall to her. There is no guilt when she offers her hand towards the mages. They flock to their side, just as her little students would, when she offered to take the templar's punishment in their stead. Once they're safely behind the lines of the red templars, her hand forms a fist. And the magic she had planned for that night in Haven takes shape. She burns the non magical survivors alive. Their screams finally satting the thirsty for vengeance she grew to have since a templer first raised their hand against her.

Corypheus looks at her in a new light. His dead wife would've never done this. He looks around them, at the desolated lands, at the twisted templars who now protected the mages they were once set to punish. Sethius would have never done this either.

"Come, Evelyn, there is much to be done" her hand was safely in his clawed one, the lyrium in his skin singing at her touch. Humming to the same tune that her mark would hum, this in this new world.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly had this fic sitting in google docs for 3 years. But yesterday I saw a picture of Corypheus and feel in love with him all over again.


End file.
